Stating the Obvious
by clair beaubien
Summary: Post 5.10 The boys are sick and Cas is paying a visit. Now up, Ch. 4: Dean and Cas chat while Sam sleeps.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note (and self-aggrandizement): I've started posting my "real" stories (OK, one so far) on fictionpressdotcom - my site is fictionpress .com/u/605043/Clair_Beaubien

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Sam was sick. He was so sick, I thought he might be dying. OK, I didn't think he was dying, but he sure was sick. He had a high fever, severe chills, ear aches, muscle aches, sore throat, gummy eyes. What I had was no medicine, no painkillers, and no help.

And Heaven and Hell both wanting us for paybacks.

"Dean?" Sam was flat out on the motel bed, flushed, hot, eyes half opened, stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers, restless under the blankets from both beds. "Y'here?"

"Right here, Sammy. I told you, I was just getting another towel."

I came out of the bathroom carrying another sopping wet towel. Out on the road, on the way to track down and tangle with one more nasty, evil, slime-slobbering bad thing, Sam decided to become deathly sick, too sick for me to want to keep driving even when he kept insisting he was OK. So I found us a third rate motel in a second rate town to try and keep him alive.

Now, two days later I was out of painkillers, coffee, and options.

"_Hurts_." Sam said.

"I know. Here, I'm gonna get you set up with another cold towel then hit the closest pharmacy."

I pulled the blankets back and exchanged the towel across Sam's chest. He wasn't happy about that.

"Don't. _C'mon_. M'cold enough already." He tried to push the towel off but I pushed his hands out of the way.

"Stop it. We need to get your fever down before you set the fire alarms off, and you're too big for me to haul into the bathroom for a cold shower."

"Doesn't work anyway." He muttered.

"What doesn't work?"

"Cold showers, cold baths, don't work. I read that. Gotta lower temp'ture slow. Shower's too fast. Dangerous. Medicine's better."

"Thank you Dr. Know-it-all." I said. "So wait here while I go get some more medicine."

"_Hurts_."

"I know. Here, here's your phone. Got it?" I folded his fingers around it. "I'll be back as fast as I can."

"...'kay..."

I hated leaving him alone even for the fifteen minutes I was hoping it was going to take me to drive to the drugstore for Tylenol, Gatorade and convenience food.

"I'll be back as fast as I can." I said again.

"I'll b'fine." I could tell he was trying to sound confident, but his eyes couldn't even focus on me as he said it.

God, I hated leaving him alone like that.

I turned to the door to get this job underway - and almost ran into Castiel. My heart just about jumped out of my chest.

"Geez - scare me to death, why don't you?"

"You were supposed to be in Cross Village yesterday morning."

Nice to see you too, Cas. Don't mind the pleasantries.

"How'd you know we were here?"

"Bobby. He knew where to find you. You should be in Michigan."

"Yeah, well..."

I stepped aside so Cas could get a good look at my sick little brother. Sam turned his face away but I wasn't sure if it was just being sick, or if he knew Cas was there.

"He's very ill." Cas deduced after a few seconds.

"Y'think?" I had to ask. I tried not to sound snotty, but Sam wasn't getting any better, it was two days before Thanksgiving, or maybe two days after, I couldn't be sure, and I'd had five hours of sleep in three days. Not all at the same time.

And the week before, we'd lost Jo and Ellen

"Shouldn't you take him to a hospital?"

"I don't know who to trust anymore." I pulled my jacket on. "Watch him for me. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"Watch him? What can _I_ do?"

"Just keep him safe. He's got his phone, call me if anything happens." I leaned over Sam, checking his fever, checking how aware he was of what was going on. "Sammy? How're you doing?"

"Y'back already?"

OK, he wasn't doing that good.

"I haven't left yet Sammy. Cas is here. He's gonna wait with you while I'm gone, okay?"

"Castiel?"

"Yeah."

"Y'got me a babysitter?" Sam asked, and even tried to laugh. "Y'got a hot date?"

"Shut up. Don't give him any trouble, all right? I'll be right back."

"_Dean_?" Sam sounded scared then. He reached up with both hands, even the hand holding his phone, and grabbed onto my jacket.

"What? Sam, what is it?" Was he in pain? Was his fever spiking? Was he gonna be sick?

"_I'm sorry_."

I knew he was. So, _so_ sorry for every little thing that could be laid at the feet of the Apocalypse, which meant it got laid on the shoulders of Sam. Only, to him, there was no _little_ thing.

"I know you are. It's all right. Just rest now. Okay? Just rest." I folded his hands back down over his chest. "The sooner I get outta here, the sooner I get back. Right?"

"_Hurts_. Dean - it hurts."

"I know it hurts, Sammy. I know it does. I'm going to get you some more medicine. Okay? Everything is going to be okay."

Maybe I could just bundle him into the car and take him with. That'd make him ten minutes closer to the ibuprofen at least. I was just about to grab his clothes and wrap him up when Cas reminded me he was in the room too.

"You should hurry, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, I will." - after one last look at Sam, who had his eyes squeezed shut and his phone death-gripped in his hand. "Take care of him."

SPN*SPN*SPN

_Take care of him?_

Concern for Sam notwithstanding, my true concern was that I wouldn't _take care of him_ to the satisfaction of his brother. I could only imagine Dean's reaction if his brother's condition deteriorated on my watch. And given the current physical state of Sam Winchester, I felt the odds were not in my favor.

"Is there anything you need that I can get you?" I asked. Sam shook his head but didn't open his eyes or turn his head toward me.

If I had been possessed of enough _mojo,_ as Dean is wont to refer to my abilities, I would've healed Sam and left the premises. Being with the man who had broken the last seal and freed Lucifer was not pleasant for me.

It reminded me of the part _I_ had played in the matter.

If I hadn't freed Sam from his cell in Bobby Singer's house, another angel would have and the result would have been the same. But as the truth stands, I _did _open it, and every soul in the world bears the consequences.

Perhaps none more than Sam Winchester.

I have yet to tell the Winchesters that I opened that door. I don't know that I ever _will _tell them, since I can determine no purpose it would serve.

And I have no desire to bear another knife in my vessel's sternum.

So, for the time being, I sat watch over Sam and hoped Dean would accomplish his mission quickly.

SPN*SPN*SPN

Of course what I hoped would be a fifteen minute trip turned into nearly an hour. I practically steamrolled some old lady in line in front of me who was cashing out her Milk of Magnesia with bottle tops and Green Stamps. I didn't call Sam as much as I wanted to because I didn't want to disturb him if he'd managed to fall asleep. So those fifty-one minutes passed a little tensely.

Finally, I got out of there with Gatorade, pre-packaged sandwiches, cans of soup, maximum strength painkillers, coffee, Vicks, eye drops, ear drops, cough drops, and some powdered eucalyptus something or other to put in a hot bath to soothe a cranky child.

I got that one for me.

Sam was pretending to be asleep when I got back. Avoiding Cas. Eyes closed, faced still turned away, squeezing that phone like he had to crush it.

Cas was sitting at the table, staring at Sam like taking his eyes off of him would be a sin.

"Y'holding on, Sammy?" I asked, as quietly as I kept my movements back into the room.

"I believe that your brother is sleeping."

"Holding on." Sam answered me, surprising his 'babysitter' either that he was awake, or that I could tell he was awake.

"It's OK. I've got the medicine for you. You'll feel better in no time."

Sam turned to look at me. I didn't like the look on his face. He was in all kinds of pain and in spite of his flushed face, inflamed eyes, and sandpaper voice, I knew most of his pain wasn't physical.

"Back already?" He asked me.

"Back already. Didn't give the babysitter any trouble did you?"

I gave a glance to Cas, but he only looked stoic and long-suffering.

Sam didn't answer me, except to lift his hands toward me, like he couldn't see me, or wanted me closer.

"Give me a second, Sammy. Let me get your medicine for you."

In a minute or less I pried Sam's phone from his hand, got three painkillers and a glass of Gatorade in him, put saline drops in his eyes, medicated drops in his ears, a heating pad under the ear that hurt him the worst, a fresh cold towel on his chest, and the blankets pulled all the way up.

"There you go. You'll feel better in no time, okay? Then we'll try some soup."

"_Nnn-gree_." That came out on a moan.

"Okay. We'll wait and see how you feel in a little while."

"K. L'tcha know."

"Okay, good. That's good, Sammy. You try and get some rest now."

Another moaned answer, as he closed his eyes.

"You're welcome, get some sleep."

I watched him a minute, made sure he stayed put, then turned to get myself some of that soup, sandwich, and coffee. Cas hadn't moved from the table. Poor guy probably didn't have anywhere else to go.

"You understood him?" He asked me, meaning Sam and his non-speaking speaking.

"Yeah, I understood him. Why not?" I went into the kitchenette behind Cas and popped the pull top on the can of chicken noodle soup.

"He seemed rather - _unintelligible_."

I shrugged.

"Not to me. You hungry?"

"No. Thank you. I am not."

"Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Okay, well, pull up a cloud and keep me company."

SPN*SPN*SPN

I stayed with Dean while he made soup and coffee, and while he consumed it, and while he cleaned up afterward, and I made note that he accomplished it all while keeping his brother in view.

"The medications appear to be working on your brother." I said. Dean had taken his seat at the table again with more coffee and I felt I should say something.

"Yeah, he'll sleep for awhile…couple of days we should make it to Cross Village."

"Won't it take longer than that for Sam to completely recover?"

"It'll take that long for him to be able to travel. He can finish recovering on the drive."

"Is that wise?"

Dean shrugged and looked at Sam's sleeping form. Again.

"_It's necessary_."

And he was distinctly unhappy with that necessity.

"Is Sam as solicitous of your health as you are of his?" I asked. Dean shook his head and I was surprised that Sam would be any less unrelenting than his brother, but Dean followed that gesture with a laugh.

"Sam never woulda let the medicine run out. He's OCD that way."

"OCD?" That sounded vaguely familiar. "Is that '_oppositional combative_…?" I couldn't think of the final word. My question only succeeded in making Dean laugh again.

"That's _ODD._ Oppositional Defiant Disorder. And _yeah_, Sammy's got that in him too. OCD is _obsessive compulsive_. He wants things the way he wants them. And they better _be_ the way he wants them or nothing else gets done until they _are_ the way he wants them."

"And you endeavor always to ensure that he obtains what he wants."

Dean shrugged and shook his head and didn't meet my eyes.

"_Used to…_"

We had passed an hour more or less in varying measures of silence and conversation when Sam roused on his bed. Dean was at his side in an instant.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was weak, questioning his brother's presence, not even looking where Dean had placed himself on the edge of the mattress.

"Right here Sammy, right here." Dean took Sam's hand into his own. "Told you I'm not going anywhere, didn't I? I'm right here. See?" Sam still did not acknowledge Dean's close proximity, until Dean turned Sam's face toward him. "See? Right here."

"Dad's gonna be mad."

Being well aware that John Winchester was no longer among the living, I wondered what Dean's answer would be.

"Well he's been mad before hasn't he? He always gets over it. You don't have to worry about that."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Then Sam was quiet for a few seconds and a few seconds only before he twisted in the other direction on the bed, whimpering and in distress.

"_Dean_?"

"Here Sammy. Right here."

"S'my fault. Everything - s'all my fault."

"Don't talk like that. Don't you talk like that. Just get some rest, okay? It'll be better in the morning. Everything'll be better in the morning."

Sam tossed again on his bed. He pulled his hand free of his brother's grasp and then immediately searched for it again. He grumbled something unintelligible. It sounded argumentative.

"C'mon Sammy…" Dean urged him. "Close your eyes and get some rest for me."

_For me. _

Dean asked Sam to rest, not for himself, not for the hunt, not to hasten his recuperation. Dean had asked Sam to rest for _his_ sake, for Dean's sake. Evidently that was the right request to make. Sam grumbled something again and it sounded resigned.

"Yeah." Dean said and I wondered what question or comment of his brother's he was responding to. "Little while, OK?"

Sam sighed. He sounded _content_.

Dean was also able to take that as an answer.

"Good. Now tuck in and get some more rest. Y'got a few more hours yet until your next dose of medicine."

I have seen Sam Winchester kill demons as powerful as Alistair with nothing more than intent, I have seen him ingest demon blood. I have seen him stand between Dean and heaven and hell and anything created or devised that he deemed a risk to his brother. His demand: "Miracle. NOW," and his immediate and utter dismissal of me when I could not provide that miracle for Dean still rang in my ears. I have been witness to his actions loosing the most vile, destructive force onto mankind.

But right at that moment, I was witness to Sam Winchester calming on his bed of pain, turning his face into his pillow, easing toward his brother's voice and words of comfort, completely vulnerable yet utterly safe. I began to see how easily the battle of Armageddon could have been avoided if the Winchester brothers had been allowed to protect each other instead of being goaded into battling each other.

"There you go Sam. Just sleep now. I'll be right here."

Even I could accurately interpret the way Sam relaxed and the long sigh he exhaled.

And I began to see what a Herculean effort it had to have been to drive these two brothers apart at all.

SPN*SPN*SPN

When I could be sure Sam was sound asleep, I tucked his hand under the covers and went back to the table and my lukewarm cup of coffee. As soon as I finished that, I was going to offer Cas the other bed and take my spot next to Sam for the night.

"You love him." Castiel said. OK, time to revisit our little talk on personal space and how it isn't all _physical_. I wasn't going to answer that startling bit of _'no, gee, really?_' but Cas kept looking at me like he could will an answer out of me.

"Dude - what d'you think? He's my brother."

"Cain and Abel are brothers." He said. In that same bland, neutral tone that I can't decide if he's serious or sarcastic. I shrugged and grabbed my duffel and tugged it open. With Sam asleep and Cas sticking around, I could finally take a shower.

"They're not _Winchester _brothers." I pointed out. "You sure you don't want something to eat? Coffee?"

"No. Thank you."

"Okay, well I'm taking a shower then turning in. You take the other bed." He didn't answer me when I said that, he was staring at Sam. I turned to look what he was looking at but Sam wasn't moving or stirring or doing anything but sleeping and breathing. "What? Why're you looking at Sam like that?"

"You've taken care of your brother all your life, haven't you?"

And again we were venturing into 'personal space' territory.

"Since I was five more or less, I guess. Why?"

"That must've been a heavy burden."

"No." Was all I said. Never, not _ever_ would taking care of Sam be a burden. I pulled clean clothes out of my duffel and tossed it back on the floor. "You're not gonna start singing, are you?" I asked him to change the subject. And anyway, I was _so_ not in the mood for _'he ain't heavy, he's my brother…' _

"No. I have no intention of singing." He said. Dead serious. I started to roll my eyes at him but then his tone perked right up. "Although - before I obtained this vessel I often celebrated the Gregorian chants of - " I was giving him a look and he saw it. "But - that was a rhetorical question, wasn't it?"

"Uhh - _yeah._" I bundled up my clothes and made my break for the bathroom and a hot shower.

SPN*SPN*SPN

Dean was not out of the room long. He came out of the bathroom, placed the clothes he had been wearing into his bag, and gestured to the beds.

"I'm turning in. You take the other bed."

"You'll sleep next to your brother?" I asked. The beds were large but certainly not _that _large. "I don't require sleep. I needn't put you out."

"I've been sleeping next to him anyway, that way I know if he needs anything during the night. Besides, the thought of you sitting up all night watching me creeps me out. So – take the bed."

He lifted the top blanket that was over Sam , pushed the other blankets out of his way, and laid down next to his brother with the one blanket spread across both of them. Sam didn't stir, even when Dean put his arm out across Sam's sleeping form; the better to realize if Sam ever did stir I presumed.

"I mean it about you not sitting up all night." Dean told me and I crossed the room to lay myself down on the offered bed. I would not sleep, but I could keep alert. And think.

Dean seemed utterly dismissive of my attempts to pay tribute to the bond he and his brother share. Did the Winchesters truly not know what a gift they had in each other? Did they not grasp that their bond is so strong that it took the machinations of heaven _and_ hell to even put a _tear_ in it? And that heaven and hell _combined_ still were not strong enough to completely sever it? Weren't they aware that the majority of people in the entire _world_ longed for a relationship as strong, selfless, and devoted as theirs?

If they truly have been chosen from all time for this struggle, perhaps it isn't because of their habitual and occasionally violent inclination to be at odds with each other, but because of their instinctive drive to always _forgive_ each other…

"Sam loves you too." I said.

"Yeah, and I hear the sun's coming up tomorrow too. Go to sleep."

…perhaps _that_ will be what saves us after all.

The End.


	2. Chapter 2

I went back two days later to determine if Dean and Sam were indeed on their way to Cross Village. I found the Impala backed up to the open door of the motel room and Sam carrying duffels, bags, and equipment out of the room to put into the trunk, one item at a time.

"Oh. Hey." He said as he passed me on the threshold, and that was all the greeting I received from him, as he continued ferrying their possessions to the car. He barely spared me a glance.

"Where is Dean?" I asked. I did not see him through the open motel room door.

"Shower."

I might've asked Sam the name of his most dire enemy for the tone with which he answered me. And it wasn't just the effects of a lingering sore throat.

He was obviously recovering from his recent illness; he was also obviously recovering _slowly_. His skin was pale, his eyes were dark and reddened, and his hair was sweated into clumps against his forehead. He moved slowly and rested his weight on one hand on the bumper whenever he placed an item into the trunk of the car. Once he pressed a hand against his ear.

"You're feeling better?" I inquired anyway. I received in answer a grumble that Dean no doubt would have been able to immediately render. I, however, was left to interpret it as I might. Compared to the radiant joy Sam exhibited upon meeting me the very first time, his attitude now was practically a denunciation.

"Perhaps we might delay the quest in Cross Village another day or two." I offered. "The weather there has turned rather foul. Traversing the Upper Peninsula in heavy snow could be perilous."

"Maybe. _But it's necessary_."

"Perhaps Dean and I -."

I quickly suppressed that thought when Sam turned a look of absolute fire on me. It lasted but a moment however and was replaced with the weariness I'd seen too often in him of late.

"Doesn't matter anyway." He shrugged as he placed another item in the trunk. "Dean'll be sick by tonight. He's catching what I have."

"_Catching_? He isn't ill yet?"

"No, not yet. Another twelve hours and we'll need to stop for the night at least. So - we go. Now."

"How do you know he will become sick?"

"He's squeaking." Sam told me. At least, that was what I thought he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's - uh -" Sam stopped his circuit and actually looked at me. "When he breathes, I hear a - a - _squeak_. It means he's coming down with it too. By this time tonight, he'll be as dead as I was."

He set a few books into the trunk, then having apparently put away all he needed to, he shut the trunk. I expected him to return to the motel room, but he pulled keys from his jacket pocket and spoke to me over his shoulder.

"Tell Dean I went to the drugstore, will you?"

"You said he wasn't ill yet."

"I don't want to get stuck in a blizzard in Michigan with an empty medical kit when he _does_ get sick."

Well, Dean _had_ said that Sam was particular about that sort of thing. So I turned to enter the open door of the motel room – and saw a duffel bag and Sam's backpack on his bed.

"You haven't finished packing."

"I'll finish when I get back." He said and his reasoning became quite rapidly obvious to me.

"You're trying to avoid me."

"I'm _trying_ to do four things at once."

I didn't know why I should feel upset that he wished to avoid me. Sam and I don't have that much to do with each other. And none if it is without the buffer of Dean between us. Or almost none. Still, I had no wish to make him uncomfortable.

"I won't stay. I only wished to ascertain your plans to travel."

"No. Stay." His tone was one of annoyance. He opened the car door, preparing to get in. "Dean'll probably want to talk to you or something."

"You obviously don't wish me here." I said, preparing to remove myself. I believed I said it without rancor, as I truly felt none, but Sam stopped himself from getting in the car and turned to address me. His tone now was neutral, tinged perhaps with regret.

"Look – I'm sorry. I'm tired. I'm sick. Every TV or radio I turn on, I hear one or a dozen or more bad things _I_ caused by starting the Apocalypse. I've got hell breathing down my neck wanting me to acquiesce. Heaven's after Dean. I lost two friends eight days ago. Two _more_ friends. I'm down to the last two people in the world who know when my birthday is and why I hate it and it's just - I just…"

He didn't finish his thought and he didn't need to.

"I'm sorry." I offered and it was feeble. "_I'm sorry_."

He shrugged.

"So stay. Tell Dean I'll be back. He still gets a little antsy if I'm out of his sight when I'm sick."

"Sam – wait." I wanted to tell him this before he drove off. If I couldn't tell him my own part in the debacle, I could at least attempt to assuage his self-reproach. "You know you don't – and _shouldn't_ – bear the entirety of the Apocalypse. Forces greater than you can imagine were allied against you to bring this about."

He gave me a strange look, a piercing look.

"Yeah? Tell me something, Cas. Did you ever do something you regretted? And not just regretted, but wished you hadn't been born rather than do it? Something that harmed every single person you laid eyes on from that moment until the end of the world? Something that you kept beating yourself with no matter how much time passed?"

"Well, I - ."

"Did you ever - say – open a door that you wished later on you'd let stay locked?"

I stared at him in alarm. Did he know? _Could_ he know?

"What are you suggesting?"

"Panic room in Bobby's basement?" He asked. "We both know no demon could get through those traps. Zachariah was so zealous to have me waste Lilith and bring on the Apocalypse, he had you break me out of there so that I could."

Sam was not asking me a question. He was presenting me with a fact.

"How long have you known?"

"Awhile. I'm a lot of thing, Cas. Inattentive isn't one of them." He didn't sound angry. He sounded tired. Disheartened. "Anyway, I figured that's something Zachariah would use to blame you, same as he blames me."

It was succinct and accurate logic; Sam was indeed as smart as Dean had ever bragged to me that he was.

"Does Dean know?" I asked.

"You're still standing aren't you?" Sam pressed his hand against his ear again briefly. He seemed to be in pain. "Think you would be if he knew?"

"I am sorry." I told him. He shrugged again.

"You gave me what I wanted. I can't blame you for that."

From inside the motel room, I heard the bathroom door open and in a moment Dean was at the threshold.

"You know, Sam, I left the ear drops out specifically so that – oh, Cas. Hey."

"Dean."

He didn't even inquire why I was there. He held a small bottle out to his brother and shook it with some force.

"I mean it, Sam. Your ears are still bothering you, aren't they?"

"I did see him press his hand against his ear two separate times since I arrived here." I told Dean. The look Sam gave me was as acidic as the one Dean gave him.

"_Thanks for pointing that out_." Sam said. I sensed that he was actually not grateful.

"I'm confused. You seemed quite appreciative of Dean's ministrations two nights ago. You barely wanted him out of your sight and indeed, you seemed to rest much more easily when he placed himself in the bed right next to you while you slept."

I am cognizant of most workings of human physiology, therefore I recognized the blush that burst across Sam's face as an unbidden indication of mortification.

Heaven's Secret Weapon and the Eye of Hell's Hurricane was embarrassed to be seen needing his brother.

"_Later_. Okay?" He said to Dean. He pulled the bottle out of Dean's hand and pushed it into his jacket pocket. "I'm going to the drugstore to restock our first aide."

"Not without me, you're not." Dean said. "You're in no condition to drive, I'll finish packing up my stuff and we'll get on the road."

"Dean -"

_"Sam."_ Dean answered, with a strong huff of breath.

"You're right." I said. Just as Dean was claiming his victory with a smile, I clarified: "Dean is squeaking." And while Sam's frown turned to a smile, Dean's smile turned to a most definite scowl.

"_Whose side are you on_?"

I was spared having to answer by the very definite squeak that accompanied Dean's retort. He glared at me, a lengthy, penetrating glare. Then he turned the glare on Sam and pointed at him.

"You wait for me."

Then he went back into the motel room and slammed the door behind him.

"Well, I'll leave you and your brother to tend to each other, then. You may telephone me when you're at Cross Village."

"Yeah. And in between, we go back to our searches." Sam said. He sounded as though he was addressing himself.

"What do you mean?"

"You're searching for God." He shrugged. "I'm searching for the place I don't hear the screams anymore…" He looked at the closed motel room door, and then at me. "Maybe we'll find them both in the same place…"

The End.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N 0: I re-read this chapter and wasn't happy with the ending so I tweaked it. OK - I more than tweaked - I totally rewrote the ending.**

A/N 1: this turned out to be waaaaaaaaaaay longer than I thought it would be. This one chapter is longer than most of my stories.

A/N 2:as ever and always, thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, alerts or favorites my stories.

* * *

Dean got some kind of medicine at the drugstore that stopped him squeaking, but it didn't stop his cold. He managed to hold out nearly fourteen hours, which put us about four hours outside of Cross Village, before he pulled off to an actually pretty good motel.

"We're staying _here_?" I had to ask. "Pretty upscale for us, isn't it?"

"I saw it on the internet, thought it looked nice." His voice was scratchy and flat. "You get the room, 'k?"

"Sure."

As I slid out of the car into the sharp sleet, Dean tucked his arm under his head against the car window. He wasn't squeaking but his breathing was getting as heavy as his eyes and he'd been popping cough drops for the last three hundred miles. I figured he'd make it as far as his bed. If I was lucky.

Turned out though he had a little more steam in him than I thought. After we carried in our stuff, duffels and groceries, Dean dug some clothes out and some package of something that I think said 'eucalyptus' and wobbled to the bathroom where instead of the shower turning on, I heard the bathtub filling up.

I laid down the salt and turned up the thermostat, emptied the food into the actually-nearly full-sized refrigerator, then set out all the medicine Dean would need on the bedside table with a bottle of orange juice. He wasn't as bad yet as I'd gotten so he could still dose himself without help.

When that was done, I put water on to boil for hot chocolate and got the book I'd been reading out of my backpack. We'd gained an hour driving east and it was only nine where we were, and I was going to be sitting up awhile. Aside from keeping an eye on Dean, research was pretty much my only past-time these days.

And anyway, with the sleet outside and the baseboard heat inside, it was a perfect night for hot chocolate and a good book.

Dean came back out after awhile, and aimed for the bed closest to the bathroom door.

"Call Cas?" He asked.

"Not much we can do tonight. Why? You want t'talk to him or something?"

"No, it's just -." Dean shrugged as he pulled his blankets back. "I was thinking, wherever he is out there, he's alone. You know? Every time we meet up with an angel, seems like another piece of his family falls away. You and me don't always get along but -" He shrugged again. " - we're together."

I didn't answer that and he didn't want an answer. He shook out a handful of vitamin C and ibuprofen and decongestant, and swallowed it all down with the juice.

"You want some hot chocolate?" I offered.

"No, thanks. I'm turning in."

"Your throat any better?"

"I'll live."

Which meant it wasn't bad enough to stop breathing.

"Your ears hurt?"

"That one's still all yours. Don't stay up late."

"Yeah."

So he went to bed and fell asleep.

We were in a good size motel room. Despite how sick Dean was feeling, I was glad we'd made it this far. The beds looked soft, the carpet didn't smell like a wet ashtray, the kitchenette was clean, and the heat was _wonderful._ I made my hot chocolate then pulled two dinette chairs close together at the table, one to sit in and one to put my feet on.

I set the book on my lap and started reading - more Apocalyptic Defense Strategy, of course. But my phone nagged at me, out the corner of my eye, sitting there on the small dinette table. I tried to ignore it. It was late, I was tired, I was staying up to keep a watch on Dean, and he needed sleep, not company.

A quick look at the bed and my brother confirmed that he _was_ sleeping. Not twenty feet away from me.

Even when we were fighting and furious and not speaking to each other, even when I knew Dean was completely fed up with me, even when I needed to be away from him, just knowing that he was just a speed-dial away made being alive easier.

And I knew all too well what being alive was like when he _wasn't _that close.

And maybe Dean felt the same way too. When Dad was missing, and especially after Dad died, Dean seemed to pull me in closer, as close as he could. Because we were family. Because we were all we had left.

Because the alternative was to be completely alone with no one to reach out to. Or hang out with. Or hang onto.

No one to sit up and watch when pain and misery came calling.

The Apocalypse was maybe pounding on our door, but both of us, me and Dean, were behind that door, shoving with all we had to keep it closed.

I gave another look to be sure Dean was asleep, then I picked up my phone and dialed.

SPN*SPN*SPN

When my telephone rang, I was on the top floor of an office building, looking out the massive windows at a city quickly disappearing under a rapidly accumulating deluge of snow. The hour was late and the building was empty and I was alone.

"Sam - have you reached Cross Village already?" I asked.

"Uh - no. Not yet."

The hesitancy in his voice concerned me.

"Have you been taken ill again?" I asked. "Did Dean succumb more acutely than you had foreseen?"

"No. No, we're okay. Dean's sleeping. We just stopped for the night. If he doesn't get any worse, we'll be in Cross Village tomorrow, early afternoon at the latest."

"Oh. All right then. Thank you for letting me know. I'll wait for your call tomorrow afternoon."

As soon as Sam offered his goodbye, I was going to put away the telephone and resume my solitary vigil far above this snowy Michigan city.

Sam, however, was not offering goodbyes.

"Hey, Cas? I was wondering - are you, um, doing - anything? Right now?"

I knew the Winchesters were dedicated to the hunt, but this seemed a bit extreme, even for them.

"It is rather late isn't it to undertake any activities this evening? It presents no problem to wait until tomorrow."

"No, I didn't mean that. I wasn't - I meant - I was wondering - um - if you're in the area, you know, if you're not doing anything, maybe you could - um - come by. If you wanted."

His continued hesitancy and apparent distress confused me. If he needed something for Dean, he would ask me for it. Demand it of me. Perhaps he needed something for himself.

"Do you need more supplies? Certainly, I'll bring you whatever you need."

"No. No, we don't need anything. Thanks. No. I just - thought - you know - I'm gonna be awake for awhile and - um - I wouldn't mind some - um - company."

I was momentarily dumbfounded.

"You're inviting me for a - _visit_?"

There was a definite pause from the other phone.

"Yeah. I - um - yeah, I am....I - uh - made hot chocolate…?"

I considered - and dismissed immediately - the thought that perhaps Sam needed me to watch Dean while he went out, as I had watched over Sam for Dean. Again, I knew that if Sam needed something from me to benefit Dean, he would not be so circumspect in asking for it. He would _demand_ it. As succinctly as possible. The invitation he had just proffered was as lengthy as it was convoluted.

"Um - thank you, Sam. Yes. Give me your location and I will be there momentarily."

SPN*SPN*SPN

I was surprised that Cas said 'yes'. I was surprised he'd spend - _want _to spend - time with me. I told him Dean was asleep. He knew it would be just me.

It'd been a long time, a really long time - _four years, seven months, one week and one day, but who's counting? _- since I'd invited somebody to visit me, just me, for any reason other than a hunt. I was kind of out of practice.

What constitutes small talk with an angel?

A knock on the motel door surprised me. I expected Cas to just wing himself into the room. But when I looked through the peephole, there he was, rumpled and dampening in the sleet.

"Hey." I opened the door to let him in. "You knocking now?"

"I thought perhaps that would be a more acceptable means of announcing my presence. Dean seems to think I bear a certain disregard for what he refers to as _personal space._"

"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black..." I mused out loud. "C'mon in. Dean's sleeping." I said that as much a warning to keep things quiet as to remind Cas that I was it for company. "Let's go over to the sitting area…"

Back when I started really praying, even when I didn't know for sure who or what I was praying to, never in my wildest, most fevered, or pain-killer-filled dreams did I ever imagine inviting an angel in for hot chocolate on a winter night.

Especially not when it was just me and him, and Dean was gone off to sleep in Get-Well-Ville.

"So - um - you like hot chocolate?" I asked. Because if he didn't, I really didn't know what I was going to do.

"I've never tried hot chocolate, but I would be more than willing to."

Great.

"_Great _- well, pull up a cloud and I'll get you some."

We'd bought some powdered hot chocolate mix when we got the groceries, some generic store brand, not the really good stuff. But the water was hot and the cups were clean and not chipped, and I'd stopped wanting anything better than that a long time before.

"Here."I set the cup in front of Cas at the table and took my seat again, setting my feet back on the second chair.

And we sat there quite a few long minutes, drinking hot chocolate and not saying anything.

At all.

Dean slept on.

SPN*SPN*SPN

The hot chocolate was - hot. And chocolate.

As beverages go, it was - acceptable.

I have never _visited_ anyone when it wasn't of my own instigation, or the eve of an horrific battle, and so I was not fully knowledgeable of manners or protocol in such a situation.

"This seems a comfortable room." I offered.

"Yeah. We've stayed in some ugly places in our lives. This past year though, we've been staying in some nicer spots."

"Dean wants you to be comfortable." I said. I was surprised by the answer I received - Sam shrugged and pulled a large book off the table onto his lap.

"I don't know." He said, as though he was embarrassed by the question, or the implication. "Anyway, you saw the place we holed up when I was sick."

"When you were sick, your world was reduced to bed, blankets, and pillows, and it was Dean who bore the burden of his surroundings. Now, your situations are reversed and I imagine Dean chose this motel - if indeed _Dean _chose this motel - with some thought to the time you would be spending in it while awake."

I waited for either affirmation or refutation of my statement. Sam, however, stared into the cup in his hands.

"_Did_ Dean choose this motel?"

"Yeah - uh -." Sam cleared his throat. "_Yeah_."

He removed a tissue from his pocket and pressed it under his nose.

"You are still recovering from your own illness?" I inquired.

"Uh - yeah. I guess so."

And then neither of us said anything more.

I am not unused to silence, and prefer it to meaningless discourse, but the silence between Sam and myself was becoming rather incommodious. It is easy enough to engender conversation with Dean; all I have to do is speak one word and Dean replies to me in paragraphs. The situation with Sam seemed quite the reverse.

As I was about to remark on the book Sam had in his possession, his eyes fixed to the form of his brother. In another moment, he placed his book on the table, stood up and retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator.

I looked at Dean, but he only seemed to be shifting position on his bed. Sam walked toward him and when he was only a foot or so away, Dean sat up, apparently in some distress.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Stupid congestion - can't get back to sleep."

"Okay, here, some more orange juice." Sam twisted the top off the bottle and Dean took it from him. "Sit forward."

"Nnnnnh." Was all I heard Dean say as he drank from the bottle of orange juice."C'mon, Dean. You know it always works. C'mon."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Dean leaned forward farther, hunching over his orange juice and misery. I don't believe he knew I was there. Sam stood several minutes, watching him, gauging something, waiting for something.

Then Dean nodded and Sam crossed the room again and brought a box of tissues back to his brother.

"Okay, have at it."

There followed several minutes of Dean attempting to disperse the accumulated effluence of a severe head cold. And he had apparently accumulated quite the quantity. Sam held the waste can where Dean could deposit his tissues as he exhausted them.

Finally, there seemed to be no more and Dean flung himself backwards into the bed. Sam set aside the waste can and sat on the edge of the mattress next to his brother.

"More orange juice?"

"Nnnnnh."

"Decongestants?"

"Nnnnnh."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Yuk."

"All right then, go back to sleep."

Sam pulled the blankets higher and placed his hand on Dean's brow.

Dean pushed Sam's hand away and turned to face the wall.

"Knock it off, _Francis…"_

SPN*SPN*SPN

When Dean turned away, effectively telling me to leave him alone and let him go back to sleep, I went back to the dinette table and my _guest._

It felt kinda weird to have somebody else in the room with me when Dean wasn't there.

Okay, so Dean was there, he was just sleeping.

And maybe it was just weird because it was Castiel. We'd been through battles together, life and death, Heaven and hell, and I don't think we'd ever said more than a sentence or two to each other at any given time.

And probably less than half were what could be called pleasant.

He was Dean's friend. He was _my _- my brother's friend.

"I hadn't realized that 'Sam' was a nickname for 'Francis'." Cas said as I was taking my seat again.

"What?"

"He called you 'Francis'."

"Oh - ha. No, that's just something he calls me sometimes."

"Oh." Cas sounded confused, but I was too tired to explain.

We drank the hot chocolate and I made some more and I wondered if Cas was feeling as awkward as I was.

"Sam - if I may ask - why do you hate your birthday?"

He hadn't moved, he hardly changed expression. It was always hard to tell from the look on his face or the tone of his voice the difference between mild interest and deep scorn, pity or sarcasm or wit.

"Do you know what day my birthday is?"

"No."

"It's the day Mom made her deal. It's the day Dean made his deal and the day he went to hell. It's the day I let Lucifer walk free."

Cas didn't say anything. I didn't like the silence.

"Can't say we never do anything special for my birthday…"

"You shouldn't feel that way about your birthday." He said, finally. "The day you were born, the day - the _moment_ - any child is born is a celebration of momentous wonder and joy. Each child born gives the universe pause, gives it a reason to continue. Each child gives the universe _hope_."

Well, Cas talked a good game, but I had to shake my head.

"_Not me_."

SPN*SPN*SPN

Perhaps I became carried away attempting to persuade Sam that the occasion of his birth was not one of sorrow but of delight. Despite all that had occurred in his life since his birth, the fact remained that the remembrance of his birth should give him pleasure and not pain.

He was in no wise persuaded.

"The day _I _was born, the universe choked." He told me. "Anybody who _was_ happy, wasn't happy for long. There isn't one thing I've touched that I haven't ruined. There isn't one person I've ever loved who hasn't died or been maimed or both. And what I did? And why I did it? I have to be the most arrogant, selfish person the universe has ever seen."

A quite cogent response sprang to my mind and my lips, but my opportunity to impart that response was interrupted when Dean stirred on his bed, reaching out an arm and scattering onto the carpet the bottles that were next to his bed.

Sam of course was on his feet more quickly than it would require to take a breath.

"Dean? Hey - what's wrong? Dean - you okay, man? Hey - what is it?"

"S'm?" Dean made a brave but ultimately futile attempt to sit up. He accomplished no more than a few inches before he collapsed back into the pillows. "S'm - wh're y'?"

"Dean?" Instead of sitting on the edge of the mattress, Sam knelt beside the bed. One hand he placed on Dean's chest, while with the other hand, he scooped up the fallen bottles and box of tissues and replaced them on the table. "I'm here, Dean. What d'you need? Want some more orange juice? Hunh? Kleenex? Dean?"

Dean muttered something that I certainly couldn't understand. Given Dean's ability to translate Sam's most tortuous communications, I was not surprised when Sam answered Dean as though his remark had been as clear as crystal.

"No, I wasn't nauseous when I was sick - why?"

He'd barely finished his inquiry when Dean forced himself to an upright position and vomited - on himself, on his blanket.

On his brother.

And then - he did it again.

And the self-proclaimed '_most selfish man in the universe_' pulled a sizeable quantity of tissues from the box on the table next to the bed and used them to wipe the residue of sickness from Dean's hands and face.

"Well, that was a good one." He said to Dean, though I wasn't sure if Dean was entirely cognizant of what was being said to him. "Wanna try best three out of five?"

I heard no answer from Dean but some communication must have passed between them because Sam told him,

"No, don't worry about it. How many times have I done that to you in my lifetime? C'mon, you need to get cleaned up. Can you stand? _Upright_, I mean…"

Dean did say something then, and Sam laughed.

"Says you…c'mon, can you slide over? Wait - let me -"

Sam stood up and folded the top blanket in upon itself, concealing the evidence of Dean's sickness. He set that aside on the floor then pushed the other blankets out of Dean's way and stood back, watching Dean, waiting again for some word or sign from Dean before making his next move.

When the sign or word or perhaps no more than the _thought_ was given, Sam helped Dean to his feet and steadied him and walked with him to the bathroom. Dean went in and shut the door. Sam immediately reached to open it again part-way.

"Nice try. Door stays open. I'll put clean clothes on the sink."

The look on Sam's face when he turned back and saw me made me think he had forgotten I was even there. He looked down at the mess staining his shirt, then back to the bathroom. He swiftly pulled clothing from Dean's bag and deposited it inside the bathroom door.

Then Sam Winchester, Liberator of Evil, Bringer of the Apocalypse, Heaven's Pawn and Hell's Puppet, the '_Most Arrogant Man in the Universe_', looked down at himself again and skirted the table where I sat, walking toward the sink behind me, not meeting my eyes. A flush that was not fever crested his face.

"Sorry. I just - excuse me while I clean up. It'll just be a minute. Sorry…"

SPN*SPN*SPN

Well, the last time I had anybody over for a visit, I sure didn't have to abandon them in the middle of it to wash puke off of me. Or my clothes. Or the bed. Maybe angels weren't everything I thought they'd be, it still didn't seem right to be wearing puke in front of Cas.

I ducked back to the sink in the kitchenette and washed off my hands and the front of my shirt.

Poor Dean. Regular flu wasn't bad enough, he had to get stomach flu too. He was sure going to feel like crap on stale toast for awhile.

We had some Sierra Mist in the fridge at least, I took it out and put it on the bedside table, near the other bed. The _clean_ bed. I moved the meds and Kleenex over there too. I didn't want to put Dean back in the bed that smelled like puke, even if it was clean.

I picked up the dirty blanket and reached into the bathroom to grab Dean's dirty clothes off the floor while he was taking the shower. I wrapped everything in separate plastic bags I scored out of the wastebasket and dropped them in the farthest corner of the room, hopefully out of smell-range.

When that was taken care of, I cranked the thermostat up another five degrees since Dean had been shivering when I helped him stand up, and I pulled the heating pad out and set that on the bed.

With nothing left to do but wait for Dean to finish cleaning up, I sat down at the table again.

"Dean appears to have a different illness than you had."

"Yeah, I don't know where he got that. Could be food poisoning, I suppose. The places we eat, we get that a lot."

And then - silence.

I thought I could ask Cas how his search for God was going, but then I thought he'd tell us if he had any good news. And I didn't want to hear any more _bad _news. I stared at the bathroom door a minute, and it occurred to me.

"Hey - Cas? I - uh - I never thanked you."

"For what?"

"For saving Dean. For pulling him from hell. With everything that's happened ever since then, I never thanked you."

All I expected was a 'you're welcome', maybe a sardonic remark about Dean being more trouble out of hell than he was in, but Cas looked a little perturbed at my thanks.

"I removed Dean from hell on the command of God. You should thank Him for saving your brother."

"I have, I do. I thank Him every single day. But God's not the one who marched on hell and pulled Dean free. You did. _You _gave me back my brother."

SPN*SPN*SPN

I was taken aback when Sam offered me his thanks for reclaiming Dean from hell. Not that I thought he wasn't grateful; but since he felt Dean shouldn't have gone to hell and didn't deserve to be there, I believed that he would view my actions as no more than what I ought to have done and therefore deserving of no particular thanks.

What surprised me more, though, was his declaration that he had thanked God, that indeed he was _still _thanking God for saving Dean, the brother who argued with him, often maligned him to his face, on occasion visited violence upon him, and only moments ago had vomited on him.

"You continue to thank God for placing Dean back in your life?"

"Every day. Every hour. Every time I look at Dean, or hear his voice or - or anything. I'm never not grateful to have him back."

"Even when you're at odds with each other?" I asked. Sam's eyes looked from me to the bathroom door briefly, then back at me.

"I have no idea what love means in Heaven anymore, but here, in this family, when you love somebody, you love them even when they hate you. Even when _you _hate _them_. Nothing changes that."

And this, I thought, _this_ was the boy with the demon blood.

"Do you realize what a very profound statement that is?"

"Yeah, well, I wish I'd realized it before I went to college. Before my Dad died. Things might've turned out differently. Some things anyway."

Before I could ask him what things specifically would have been different, he looked at me again.

"I wonder what Dad would've thought, meeting you. He never really believed in God or Heaven or angels. I wonder what he'd say."

Having considered this exact question many times as I'd dealt with the two younger Winchesters, I had an answer already formed.

"Based on how your brother has described your father to me, and also extrapolating a hypothesis of his behavior and demeanor from yours and your brother's, my conjecture would be that upon meeting me, your father would press weaponry upon me and issue the command -" I took a breath and did my best to imitate Sam's tone at his most incensed. " - '_I don't care if you're an angel or the Queen of England. **Fight**__.'_"

Sam looked at me a moment, and then burst into laughter. Deep, genuine laughter.

I was wholly earnest in my assessment of what John Winchester's reaction would be to the knowledge of my existence, and Sam was laughing as though I'd just related the most mirthful joke in the history of mankind. I wondered if I was that far off the mark.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like Dad all right." Sam told me when his laughter had subsided. "He could be kind of single-minded."

"One of many traits which he passed down to his sons."

I thought that sentiment would cheer Sam, but it only seemed to dishearten him.

"Apparently I didn't get enough of his traits…"

"Dean has told me that you and your father are very much alike."

"He doesn't mean that in a _good_ way. He means I got Dad's blind need for vengeance and willingness to put the hunt before almost anything."

Again, before I could respond, Sam shrugged and said,

"Everybody's got flaws, though. Hunh?"

"Most definitely. Dean is disrespectful, acerbic, overbearing, and overconfident."

"_Those aren't flaws_." Sam said immediately, and with some conviction.

"Any strength can be a weakness." I pointed out. He didn't answer that; he only looked to the bathroom door again.

"I still miss Dad." He said. He was beginning to show the signs of weariness - pallor, hollow eyes, a slowing of his movements and speech. "I wish he was here. Everything would be okay if he was here. I was always safe with Dad."

This statement seemed to be at odds with many of the anecdotes Dean had shared with me about their lives with their father.

"But Dean told me that traveling and hunting with your father more often than not put you in harm's way. Often quite directly."

Sam offered me a fast glance over his shoulder as the sound of water flowing in the bathroom ceased.

"If strength can be weakness, then danger can be safety." He said.

SPN*SPN*SPN

Dean was done with his shower, so I went to pull the blankets back, and plug in the heating pad and turn it on low. That'd help his chills. I checked that all the medicine he needed and the Sierra Mist was within his reach, the soiled blankets and clothes were out of sight, and that the path from the bathroom was clear. I hoped he was feeling better after his shower.

"S'mmy?"

Guess not, judging from how he looked as he stood in the bathroom doorway. Flushed and pale, shivering, miserable-looking, and when I walked over to him and asked quietly…

"Hey, Dean. How're you doing?"

…he squinted up at me like his eyes were bothering him and he asked,

"Where'd y'put th'bed?"

Guess he had the gummy eyes now too.

"Over here, c'mon. I put you in the other bed. It's just a little farther."

He put his hand on my arm and together we made a slow walk to the farther bed. He sat down and I felt his forehead and he let me. His fever was still going strong.

"Throwing up anymore?" I asked.

"No, seemed t'be it."

"Good. OK. There's Sierra Mist here, anyway. Just in case. And here, take some more Ibuprofen, in case you tossed up most of the last dose you took."

He watched me as I shook a couple of tablets into my hand but he didn't answer me. He was practically falling asleep where he sat.

"You're completely wasted, man. We drove too far today."

"But we got a great motel." He answered with that grin he gets. He still didn't acknowledge the medicine I was holding out to him.

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"Here, take these."

I took his hand and set the pills into it, then opened the bottle of soda pop for him. When he made no move to do anything, I sat down next to him and lifted his hand toward his mouth.

"Take the medicine, Dean. Swallow them down with this."

He either got the idea or his brain switched to automatic. He took the pills with a couple of swallows of soda pop, then set the bottle on the bedside table. When he turned to start putting himself in bed, I stood and pulled the blankets out his way some more, and then pulled them back around him when he was laying down.

"Keep the heating pad against you." I said, tucking it under the blankets with him. "It'll help your chills."

"M'na'delkit…" He muttered. But I saw him pull it close.

"Right, you're not delicate. Go to sleep. I'll be awake if you need anything."

SPN*SPN*SPN

From the very first moment I met Dean in his corporeal state, he presented himself to me as an obdurate, self-possessed, eminently capable man. Nothing he encountered, not even the realization that his brother was treading a bloody edge between good and evil, could breach Dean's nerve.

Only in the hospital, after Alistair had wreaked his havoc on Dean's body and - worse - on his psyche, only then, battered and bleeding and hardly able to breathe on his own, did Dean come close in my presence to anything approaching vulnerability, and even that was interspersed with moments of anger and fire.

So it was with utter amazement - bordering on sheer stupefaction - that I watched as Dean Winchester, the most feared man in Heaven, the most hated man in hell, the most independent man on earth, allowed himself to be guided, supported, medicated, even coddled, by his younger brother.

Dean Winchester is so strong, he can only be completely vulnerable in the presence of the only man strong enough to be vulnerable in his presence.

Sam.

Sam returned to the table and the two chairs he was using to recline himself. He rested his head in one hand. His eyes were half closed, as though a bright light was shining in them.

"You should sleep, shouldn't you?" I asked him. I knew enough of the Winchesters to know that if I commended him to rest, he would call his present state of wakefulness and fatigue '_resting_'.

He turned toward me, without raising his head from his hand.

"He still has the fever; I need to wait to see that the medicine has an effect."

"That could be several hours, couldn't it?"

He nodded, again not lifting his head from where he rested it in his hand.

"If he's as sick as I was, yeah. Could be a few hours. I need to be sure too that he doesn't throw up again. If he does, with the fever, he could become dehydrated. I need to watch him."

"So - you're prepared to be awake all night, if necessary."

"Yeah." He answered me as though I'd suggested a pleasant activity.

"I can sit with Dean while you -."

As had happened the day before, my offer of help was cut short but a single glance of fire from Sam.

"You should sleep." I said again.

"When I know Dean is all right."

And we fell into silence again. I wondered if I should offer to leave, and leave Sam to his task of caring for Dean through the night.

Alone.

"Hey Cas, I never asked -" Sam straightened himself up in the chair and turned to me. "Losing your angel juice and all - you can't get sick, can you? Maybe you should take some ibuprofen? Echinacea?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You sure? I'd hate to invite you over just to give you a head cold."

"I assure you, I won't be taken ill."

He nodded. He actually seemed pleased with my answer. He rested his head in his hand again and let his eyes close for a moment.

"You know," he said as his eyes opened and again went immediately to the bed and his brother. "I was thinking, if God is anything like my Dad was, you won't find Him until He wants to be found."

"I am becoming more and more aware of that." I agreed.

"But you know what else? Dad stayed away from us, he kept us away from him, to protect us. That first year I was back with Dean, when Dad wouldn't even answer our phone calls, I thought he was mad at me, I thought he hated me, sometimes I thought he was the biggest jerk in the world and that he was staying away from us out of selfishness. But he wasn't. You know? He was doing his best to protect us. I think he must've maybe hated being away from us as much as we hated it."

"So, you think my Father is maintaining His distance and silence as a means of protecting me?" I asked. I couldn't help but think of all I had been through during my quest. "As Dean might say, '_bang up job on that.'"_

That made Sam laugh again.

"No - I meant - even if it seems like God's ignoring you, or that He doesn't care if bad things happen - if He loves you as much as my Dad loved us, then He's doing what He knows He has to do. I mean - all the other angels are whining about how God is AWOL, but maybe - maybe He hates being away from all of you as much as you all hate it."

He rubbed his eyes and drew in a breath so deep it might've been a yawn.

"Maybe that doesn't even make sense. I don't know. Just - don't give up."

SPN*SPN*SPN

What the hell was I thinking, giving advice about God to an angel? Talk about arrogant.

"I'm sorry." I told Cas. "I don't mean to tell you your business. I'm probably telling you stuff you know already."

"Not at all, Sam. I appreciate your candor. And your concern. I must admit there are moments where I find myself contemplating despair and resignation, wondering if my quest is not simply an exercise in futility. There is solace in sharing the experience with someone who has made a similar journey."

Cas doesn't lie, and he doesn't ever say anything just to make somebody else feel better. So he was telling me the truth, that what I said had helped him. And it embarrassed me.

Me, 'the boy with the demon blood' had said something that reassured an angel.

That just didn't seem right.

"It's just - I didn't believe in my Dad and I was wrong and I never got the chance to tell him that. I don't - I wouldn't - just - you should have the chance to make things right with your Father."

Still telling an angel about God, and throwing my own petty regrets into the mix. Arrogant _and_ selfish. Time to offer him something else.

"You want anything to eat? We've got instant soup, and some sandwiches. Hey - we've got macaroni that cooks in the microwave. It only takes four minutes. That's pretty cool."

He gave me a look that seemed more astonished than puzzled.

"Well, maybe not to an angel." I said.

He took another minute, looking like he was mentally flipping through cue cards, trying to find something appropriate to say.

"I'm sure it's very wholesome fare."

"It's not milk and honey and goat curds, but outside of Bobby's, it's the closest we ever get to home-cooked food."

Cas kind of tipped his head like he was thinking about it.

"Goat curd _can _be an acquired taste."

Huh, yeah, I bet.

He didn't say anything about being hungry, and I wasn't hungry, so we stayed at the table and didn't eat anything. I was too tired to read anymore, so I just rested my head in my hand and watched Dean. Just a couple more hours and if he seemed better, or at least didn't get any worse, I could lay down and get some sleep.

Until then…

"Sam?"

I opened my eyes as soon as I realized they were closed and looked over at Cas.

"May I ask you a question which has been troubling me since we spoke this morning?"

"Uh - yeah. Sure."

I straightened up, I tried to straighten up, and pay attention.

"By your own admission, you've known for some time that it was I who opened the door to the panic room and released you from your restraints, leaving you free to kill Lilith and break the last seal. Yet, you seem to harbor no ill will toward me for this."

I didn't want to answer that.

"Is there a question in there?" I asked instead of answering. Dean could need me any time now, I'd be really okay with that.

"Almost any other person would apportion at least some of the responsibility to someone else. _Anyone_ else. Yet, all this time, you've borne the blame and the guilt and the shame entirely by yourself."

My mouth went dry and I wished I had more hot chocolate or anything to drink. It wasn't like I hadn't thought about this over and over and over again.

"That's because it _is_ all mine. Every choice was mine. You opened the door, but I walked out. I walked past Dean. Hell, I knocked Bobby cold and stole a car from him to get away. If I'd listened-" _to what Dad taught me, what Dean taught me _" - to what I knew was right, none of this would've happened."

"If I had left the lock undisturbed, none of this would've happened."

Dean wasn't stirring but I stood up anyway to go check on him. I wanted to get away from the table.

"Blaming somebody else, anybody else, isn't going to change anything." I said. "I started it. All that matters now is ending it."

SPN*SPN*SPN

Sam went to his brother's side, even though Dean had not exhibited any indication of being in distress. I knew I'd pressedfd upon a tender spot with Sam in discussing the breaking of the final seal and his involvement in it, but I needed to know his feelings on the matter before I broached one last topic with him.

Dean needed no ministrations and I knew Sam would be loathe to risk disturbing him, and despite how uncomfortable I might have made him, he would not be rude to me, so he came back to the table.

"So, Cas - I'm gonna be up for awhile, whyn't you take the other bed? You can drive to Cross Village with us tomorrow."

"And where will you sleep when you decide to retire? In bed next to your brother?"

Sam's response was an immediate and rather derisive breath of laughter.

"Yeah, right. Dean would kill me. I've slept in chairs before, I can do it again. Anyway, I want to be up if he needs anything."

"Dean accomplished the very same objective by placing himself in the same bed as you slept in." I pointed out.

And received another derisive laugh in answer.

"Yeah, well - it's Big Brother's prerogative apparently." Sam said, and I heard affection in his voice. "You take the bed if you want it. I'll be awake for awhile."

Being recumbent is not an unpleasant thing and I considered availing myself of his offer, but there was yet that last topic I needed to broach with him.

"There's something I wish to tell you first, Sam. After that, you may require my departure from this room."

His first action was to look at Dean, as though opprobrium against his brother would be the only reason to dismiss me.

"What?"

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, and turned myself in my chair so that I was fully facing Sam.

"Earlier in our conversation, when we were discussing your birth and how you feel about it, you referred to yourself as the most arrogant, selfish man on earth."

Sam flinched and looked anywhere but at me. He had spoken those words aloud himself, yet they stung him.

"'Cause I am." He said, and did not look at me.

"_Sam._" Wanting him to look at me, I tried the tone of voice I'd often heard Dean employ when he wished to impress upon Sam the seriousness of what he was saying.

That it worked surprised me nonetheless.

"Sam - the most selfish man on earth thinks he gives more than he is required to give, and begrudges the little that he ever does give. The most arrogant man on earth thinks that rather than owing anything, he himself is owed from others. The most selfish man does not willingly give everything he has, and then give yet still more from all that he lacks. The most arrogant man does not put every other person on earth before himself, most especially not when it surely means his death."

He listened but shook his head. He didn't want to believe me.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

As Dean began once again to stir on his bed and Sam stood to tend to him, one further line of reasoning presented itself to me.

"I'll tell you what I know absolutely, Sam. Never, not in any fragment of any portion of any moment in history, not since the beginning of time would the most selfish, arrogant man on earth ever put up with Dean."

In Sam's eyes, that might well have constituted opprobrium against his brother and I expected to be shown the door with speed and fury.

But he breathed out a weary laugh and smiled a weary smile.

"Dean said we keep each other human." He said, and went to his brother who was becoming restless on his bed.

"S'm? S'mmy?"

"Dean - hey. Here I am. What's going on?" He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Dean's chest. "I'm here. You feeling that bad? What do you need?"

Dean turned onto his side, toward Sam, and Sam leaned in close and moved his hand to Dean's back, gently stroking back and forth while he spoke softly to him.

"_Go back to sleep, Dean. Everything's okay here. Okay? Sleep."_

Dean stilled, but stayed turned toward Sam. And Sam stayed with him.

That morning, Sam had told me that just as I was searching for God, he was searching for the place he didn't hear the screams anymore. Whether he was referring to the screams of people blighted by the unleashing of evil on the world, or his own screams I didn't know.

And I realized - just as Sam knew that I wouldn't find God if He didn't want me to, I also knew that Sam wouldn't find the place where the screams stopped if Dean wasn't next to him.

I was also quite sure the Winchesters were already aware of that.

The End.


	4. Chapter 4

_Ugh_.

Please tell me somebody got the name of the guy driving the bus that hit me. I hadn't felt that bad topside since after I got _electrocuted_. My head ached, my ribs ached, my sides ached, my mouth tasted like burned peanuts, my sinuses were solid and my eyes were stuck shut.

I repeat: _Ugh._

After some trying, with an audible _thwick_ my eyelids came apart and I looked around the motel room. Sam was asleep at the table, with his head pillowed on his arms. Cas sat across from him, reading the same huge-ass book that Sam had been reading in the car all day.

"What time's it?" I asked. I looked at my watch but with my sticky, blurry eyes, the dial was too fuzzy to make out.

"I beg your pardon?" Cas said, looking up from the book.

"What time is it?"

Cas shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I know you and Sam are able to precisely interpret each other's speech patterns when you're ill, but I find it difficult if not usually impossible -."

Finally, just to stop him talking, which was making my brain rattle around more than it should, I lifted my arm and pointed to my watch.

"_TIME."_

"Oh, I see. It's currently three forty-one a.m."

"_Thank you."_

I dropped my arms and tried to gain a little energy for my next move.

Which was basically reaching over to the bedside table and drinking what was left of the orange juice.

I gave that a minute or two to take effect then I powerhoused myself off the pillows and sat up.

"Why is Sam sleeping at the table?" I pointed at my sleeping sibling to hopefully get my question across. The gesture apparently worked.

"He stayed awake several hours to determine the efficacy of the medication he had given you. Shortly after he declared himself assured that you were recuperating satisfactorily, he rested his head on his arms and fell into a deep slumber."

"He should be in a bed. His neck is going to kill him when he wakes up."

As I tried to get myself more out of the bed so I could wake Sam up, Cas lifted his hand and said,

"Of course."

"_WAIT_." I stopped him before he could divinely relocate Sam. On top of colds & flu, Sam didn't need digestive disturbances. "_I'll get him_."

My muscles hurt even worse standing upright than they had lying down and I ended up shuffling over to the table and Sam.

"C'mon, Sam." I shook him. "Wake up so you can go to sleep. You can't afford skimping on the beauty sleep, y'know."

"Dean?" He asked as he came awake. "Y'okay? Timezit? Y'need m're med'cine?" He sounded like his mouth was as dry as mine.

"I'm okay. You need to be in bed. C'mon. C'mon, Sammy."

I tugged on his arm and he unfolded to his feet and struggled to the bed that had no blankets on it, where he collapsed onto the mattress and was back to sleep before his feet left the floor. I looked around for the blanket then remembered I'd trashed it, and I covered Sam with the blanket from the bed I was using.

Then I dragged myself to the table and took his chair.

Well, I didn't take it as much as I surrendered to it.

Collapsed maybe.

"So - you and Sammy have a nice visit?" I asked Cas.

"It was quite pleasing, actually. Your brother is quite an agreeable companion, more so than I had anticipated. We managed to pass several hours in very wholesome conversation. I learned many things I hadn't expected about him."

"Y'don't say?" I asked, tired enough to prop my head up in my hand.

Cas took a breath like he was about to launch into a rousing description of his evening with Sam. Then his eyes narrowed.

"Was that another rhetorical question?"

"Uh - _yeah_." I levered myself up and away from the table to scout the kitchenette for anything liquid. "I learn something new about Sammy every single day."

By the contents of the trash can, Sam and Cas had drunk their way through a third of our hot chocolate stores. Sounded good to me. I turned the stove on under the tea kettle and took a few steps back to the table to grab Sam's cup to use instead of getting another one dirty.

"Want some more hot chocolate?" I asked.

"No. Thank you. _Really._"

Well, that was kind of emphatic, especially from Cas. I checked the trash can again.

"You didn't like it? Seems like you two drank enough of it."

"Yes, well…" He set the book down on the table and looked like he was about to tell me some really bad news. "In this instance, the _offer _was much more palatable than the _beverage_."

"Well, well, well, look at that. The Angel of the Lord has a soft spot for the Boy with the Demon Blood."

Cas did that head roll, kind-of-grimace expression that told me he was not happy with the answer he was about to give me.

"I had been presented with a certain perspective on your brother from the outset of my mission, that did, I admit, lend a certain amount of prejudice to my initial and somewhat ongoing impression of him as we -."

His long-winded explanation was making me miss the nausea.

"So -." I interrupted him. "You _like_ Sam."

"Yes."

Good, short answers I could handle.

"Good. You should. He's a good guy. He's sure a better person than me."

Cas looked at me so confused, it was almost funny.

"He broke the last seal." He said it like that was the whole and only word on the subject.

"You really want to start _that_ conversation?" I asked him, thinking of every which way we'd been screwed by hell _and _Heaven.

"Perhaps not."

"Good answer."

SPN*SPN*SPN

I most definitely did _not_ want to engage in a conversation outlining assorted personal responsibility regarding the breaking of the seals, and so I remained silent while Dean made some poor hot chocolate for himself. I watched Sam, sound asleep on his bed.

"May I ask you a question?" I said to Dean as he took his seat at the table once again.

"Sure."

"When you and your brother are ill, are you ever both asleep at the same time?"

Dean took a sip of his beverage and turned his gaze toward his brother as well.

"Not usually, not unless we're at Bobby's. Somebody's got to keep watch."

"And how do you decide who that will be?"

Dean shrugged.

"The one who can make the other one stay in bed wins."

"_Wins_? Wins the burden of maintaining a sleepless vigil despite being ill himself?"

"_It's not a burden_." Dean answered immediately and with some fervor. "Taking care of each other, protecting each other - it's a privilege. It's a _right._ Winner wins the _right_ to watch out for the other one."

I sensed I had touched upon a point of some tenderness with Dean and I was going to let the matter drop, but he continued.

"_At least that's how it used to be…"_

"These have been very trying times for you." It was an obvious statement, but one that I hoped would be comforting by being spoken out loud.

"To say the least." Dean responded, drinking more of the hot chocolate. "I just hope we're both still standing when it's over."

Sam stirred then, lifting his head from his pillow briefly, looking at the blanket and picking at it like he was confused by it. Dean tensed, watching him, but not going to him. And indeed, in another moment, Sam dropped back to his pillow, turned to his other side, and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. A moment later his breathing indicated he had returned to sleep.

Dean let out a breath and sipped more hot chocolate.

"So -." He turned back to me. "You staying the rest of the night? I can bunk with Sam if you want a bed."

"Why is it," I had to ask, "that when Sam is ill or in an otherwise weakened condition, you exhibit no hesitancy in sharing the same sleeping space with him, even going so far as to cover him with your arm, so that should he require anything during the night, you will be instantly aware. Yet, when you were quite ill earlier this evening, Sam would not take the same liberties with you. He remained awake and vigilant to your condition, instead. He would not even consider taking a place next to you on your bed."

Dean looked at me, as though expecting something more.

"Is there a question in there?" He asked.

"Why the dichotomy?"

He rolled his eyes and the expression on his face led me to believe I had asked an inane not to mention ridiculous question. I felt that the next word out of him would be -

"_Duh._" His toned indicated the answer should be obvious. "_Big brother's prerogative."_

"Isn't that unfair to Sam?" I inquired. "To make him remain awake for hours at a time, even though he may be unwell himself?"

"Well…" Dean set his cup on the table and pushed it around in a circle with his finger on the handle. "Difference in temperament I guess. Or - just one more way he didn't want to be like Dad maybe." For whatever reason, that thought caused a smile to form on Dean's face. "Dad would sleep with his arm across us when we were really little. Sam - maybe he's more visually oriented or something. I don't know. He preferred sitting up, watching. I always told him he didn't have to, but you know Sam - he can't do anything by halves. Even when his _half_ is anybody else's _whole_. After awhile I just started saying it was 'cause I didn't want him sleeping next to me when I was sick. That way it was on me, not him."

I could not help the smile that formed on my face - a brother's love camouflaged behind bluff and bluster. Dean, however, did not share my elation.

"_What_?" He demanded of me. "A guy can't watch out for his brother without getting smirked at for it? Things like that don't happen in Heaven? God, kill me now."

At that moment, a choked sound that wasn't a cough came from Sam on his bed. That was all. No movement, Sam didn't call for Dean, he expressed no further distress.

It was enough for Dean.

He drained his cup of hot chocolate and removed himself from the table to the beds. He spared me look of aggravation and chagrin, pulled a pillow and blanket from the bed he had been sleeping in previously, and placed himself unceremoniously in the bed next to his brother.

I smiled again.

SPN*SPN*SPN

next chapter underway


End file.
